


Odd Penpals and Scintillating Conversational Partners

by ThatPeskyBoat



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Dirk and Rose are penpals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Honestly platonic love is such a good thing, Mentions of Emotional Neglect, Mentions of Mom Lalonde, Other, POV Second Person, Pesterlogs galore, Platonic DirkRose, Rose's POV, Swearing, This might become multichapter, implications of abuse, mentions of Alpha Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatPeskyBoat/pseuds/ThatPeskyBoat
Summary: You and Dirk like to talk about many things. Many things, including how puppets stand by themselves and how a grimoire can become one's best friend for the duration of one's adolescent years.What?You never claimed that they weren't strange conversations.





	Odd Penpals and Scintillating Conversational Partners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felinedetached](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinedetached/gifts).



> I wrote this as a sort of prize for my friend Rose. I said that if she managed to ace a bunch of school shit, I'd go ahead and write something like this for her. As it turns out, she fuckin' aced them, and I was honour-bound to do this, even if it is late as hell.  
> That's not to say that I didn't have fun writing this :>.  
> Enjoy!

TT: And that, my friend, is why a copy of the Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious has practically been the closest to what I could call my best friend since the age of around twelve.

A lot of your conversations with Him end with similar conclusions to that one, and he always has rather interesting contributions that spin your well-informed, eloquent view of the world on it’s head.

TT: Well, as much as you probably think that shit is odd, it holds nothing to the fact that my best friend was literally a puppet for most of my childhood and adolescent life. Fuck, I even learnt how to flash-step so that I could interact with him without the little shit falling down every second that I wasn’t actively holding him.

You never claimed that they weren’t strange conversations. In fact, that’s possibly one of the things that you enjoy the most about your talks with your penpal. His humour is similar to yours, as well as the fact that you can hold a conversation about mostly anything. He can be a bit of a prick, however, but you’re not going to hold that against him in any respect. After all, you never declared to be perfect either.

The name of your penpal is Dirk. Contacting him for the first time was a strange experience, a lot of convoluted shenanigans that included an online forum for those struggling with their home lives, your helpful advice, his counterpoint to your own, noticing that he had the same acronym as you, and playful banter across that same forum post before you finally decided to message him through his pesterchum, which was displayed upon his profile.

* * *

tentacleTherapist [TT] started pestering timaeusTestified [TT]  
TT: So, TT.  
TT: So. TT.  
TT: I’ve messaged you due to our little banter imbued debate on that one forum post.  
TT: You mean the one that spun wildly out of control and off topic due to me being the hilarious dude I am and you being a snarky broad back at me?  
TT: Yes, that’s the one. Though I’d say that you were being less hilarious and more intriguingly self-dismissive over the points that you were raising, claiming that you could not empathise with the person that we were supposed to be giving support to; despite giving the clear insinuation that you were, in reality, actively empathising with the Original Poster.  
TT: Is this where you break out your infamous psychotalk on me, TT, because I’m really feeling it right now. Hit me with your best shot and we’ll see how close to the truth you really are.  
TT: Spoiler alert, I’m pretty sure that you’re going to be so far off the mark that you’ll probably shoot dead some horse that was suffering with some unfortunate severe mental trauma and put it out of it’s ne’er ending misery.  
TT: At least if I’m not correct, the horse will be alleviated of its suffering, even if it is through a purely metaphorical bullet of psychoanalysis that has nothing to do with said trauma-inflicted horse.

* * *

This was about half a year ago. You went on to hit the nail on the head with his situation, and though he never let his seemingly unbreakable chill facade down, you could see through it and recognise that you had unnerved him slightly. Most people would’ve simply stopped talking to you one-on-one after that but, curiously, he stayed. He continued to talk with you, up to this day. Despite everything - the distance, the time-zones, the social demand that males and females are not to be anything less than lovers - the pair of you became close friends. So close, that you’d even describe him as your best friend.

As the time went by you learnt more about him and, in return, he learnt more about you as well. You found out that his name was Dirk Strider, and he had an affinity for puppets. He practically over-glorified his older brother, who was a famous film director, comic artist, and comedian. You’d seen some of that guy’s stuff: personally, you didn’t particularly enjoy them, but Dirk insisted that they were deliberately shitty for ironic purposes. You could respect that, you guess. From what you could tell, however, his brother was never around. His parents had vanished when he had been younger, and his brother had practically abandoned him in his search for fame. Dirk hid it well, but you could tell that he was immensely lonely.

* * *

TT: So. Your name is Dirk.  
TT: Yes, that’s what I said. Unless, for some ungodly reason, I’m lying to you and this is all just a ruse.  
TT: Obviously a very carefully constructed ruse that you’ve been keeping up for the last month or so. Your story is remarkably consistent with each and every telling of it, so either you’re not lying in the slightest or you’re an amazing liar.  
TT: I’d hope for the former.  
TT: Either way. Yes, my name is Dirk.  
TT: Like the blade?  
TT: Exactly like the blade.  
TT: So, what you're telling me is that you’re named after a blade.  
TT: You’re named after a fucking flower. What’s your point?  
TT: Touche.  
TT: I don’t really have a point other than simply confirming a fact for myself. Though, it does explain your rather cutting personality.  
TT: Thanks. You being named after a rose explains your thorny sarcasm.  
TT: Checkmate.

* * *

You also found out that he basically on the other side of the world to you, which honestly sucked. Regardless of this, you both sent each other boxes of items from where you both lived, sharing tidbits of your culture and personal life. The most recent box you got from him contained something extra, other than the typical, snark-filled letter and candy that you had found yourself practically addicted to since the first time he decided to let you sample it.

* * *

tentacleTherapist [TT] started pestering timaeusTestified [TT]  
TT: So, TT.  
TT: So. TT.  
TT: What’s this I’ve found lurking in the very recesses of your most recent supply box?  
TT: I’m immediately compelled to respond with a despicable meme, so I’ll get that out of the box and onto this shit busting table before spilling the metaphorical beans on what you just asked.  
TT: Ahem.  
TT: OwO, what’s this?  
TT: I loathe you.  
TT: I loathe me too. Anyhow, it should be relatively fucking clear as to what it is. Unless you don’t have eyes, and you’ve been deceiving me all this time.  
TT: In which case, shame on you, Lalonde.  
TT: No, I know what it is, Strider, I’m just curious about it.  
TT: And here I thought that you were the wordsmith here. However, if you can’t even ask me about a hoodie in such a way that doesn’t make you look like a complete dumb shit, then I might have to re-evaluate this entire friendship.  
TT: Dirk.  
TT: It’s my favourite hoodie, okay?  
TT: …  
TT: Not that I’m complaining, but what on Earth possessed you to send this to me?  
TT: That sounds a hell of a lot like you’re complaining to me.  
TT: Anyway, I threw it your way because you’ve been bitching about the fact that it’s about as frigid as your sense of humour over there for the last month.  
TT: Maybe now you’d finally have some clothing that actually suits the weather rather than some fucking Gucci shit that you only wear for the Aesthetic™.  
TT: It’s about four sizes too large for me.  
TT: And for your information, I only tend to indulge myself in clothing that belongs to Prada.

* * *

As much as you whined about how you practically drowned in the hoodie, you felt strangely elated about how much he seemed to care for you. During that conversation, you had slipped it on, revelling in its warmth. You almost judged yourself for sinking into it, letting the smell of what was clearly Dirk’s home overwhelm your senses. He smelt like axe body spray, tank-tops, hair-gel and, oddly enough, orange soda. Okay, you know that it was weird to think about that, but sometimes one’s sense of smell can bring about the most powerful emotions. Someone’s scent is such a big part of them, honestly.

It took a few hours, whilst you were lying in bed attempting to sleep, for it to dawn on you that you somehow miss Dirk.You’ve never met the man personally, yet as you lay there wrapped in his hoodie and the thousands of blankets you tangle yourself in to fight off the cruel, cold nights, you realise that you long to be near him. Earlier, you’d tried to take the hoodie off, but found that doing so was heart-wrenchingly painful. Not to mention that it was cold as fuck. Wearing the hoodie brought you a sense of comfort. It was like he was holding you as you lay there, arms wrapped tight around your midsection as he grumbled about girls having far too much hair.

You wouldn’t want anyone to misinterpret your situation: as romantic as that fantasy may have sounded, you didn’t feel for him like that. Yes, you loved Dirk. You could say that freely, and honestly. However, you didn’t have any sort of romantic inclinations towards him. You loved him in the most platonic way possible - he was like the perfect big brother that you never had. Your playful, teasing banter and his odd way of showing that he cared was the thing that you loved about him, though you would never want to kiss him like a lover. The thought of that was almost as weird to you as if he were actually your own brother.

Perhaps you were touch-starved. Perhaps the cold, apathetic expression that was always plastered across your mother’s face had finally gotten to you, and you longed for that familial love that you had been deprived of for most of your later life. Of course, you’d gotten over your brief loathing for your mother, and now simply pitied her. She was a sad woman, with an ungrateful daughter and an unfulfilling lifestyle, no matter how rich she was.

Maybe that’s what brought you and Dirk together, knitting you so closely that you would die for him.

Maybe it was the similarities in your lifestyles that made you so empathetic towards each other, the harsh emotional neglect that you’d both been forced to suffer through in different yet oddly alike ways despite fundamentally having the world on a silver platter for you through the financial stability of your carers.

Maybe it was the innate, most human desire for someone to understand, for someone to comfort you that had done it in the end.

You loved Dirk with all of your heart, and you abhorred the way that life was cruel and separated you by seas and continents. At this point, you would do anything to meet him in person, just once, and talk to him in the flesh.

* * *

TT: You’re like the sister I never had, Rose.

**Author's Note:**

> HAHa wow this is the first time I've written Dirk properly so god help me. This might end up having more chapters though, so keep an eye out. :3


End file.
